


Consequences of Snooping

by ticklishivories



Category: Homestuck
Genre: College AU, Illustrations, M/M, Slight Dom/Sub, egregious fluff, slight edging, slight everything, slightly misleading summary, terryjack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-23 21:05:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1579526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticklishivories/pseuds/ticklishivories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jake finds Dirk's diary, and decides that it is his duty to look inside it. Forget personal boundaries and privacy, right? This is a far better way to learn more about his mysterious boyfriend.<br/>The mind of Dirk Strider is a dark and dangerous place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consequences of Snooping

**Author's Note:**

> i said this was a college au but it's actually one of those fics where the world is perfect and there are no troubles and two idiots can have all the sex they want because they have all the time they want.
> 
> dedicated to jack, who is the sweetiest sweetheart around!!  
> 

 

The keys jingle in his hands as he shuffles around the small dorm. Dirk is in a rush, rifling through his bags and papers, searching frantically for his things before he leaves. You’ve just woken up and are wearing little more than your boxers and an extra-large gray t-shirt that you are certain is Dirk’s. You’ve yet to shave or do anything remotely productive, even though it’s nearly 10 o’clock in the morning. The apartment you and Dirk share is a disaster. He’s been looking for something for what is going on twenty minutes, and you fail to know what it is. You yawn, rub your eyes and try to follow him, but he moves too quickly, so you end up standing in the center of the room and watching chaos unfold as everything is flipped upside down.

“I can’t find it, dude, I can’t find it-“

“Alright, where could you have last left it?” You clean up after him steadily as he goes.

“Fuck, uh, my bed, it could be in the sheets or underneath the mattress. Jake, I really have to go.”

You follow him to his bed, on the exact opposite side of the room as your own, and watch as he throws the sheets off the mattress and the fittings in a bundle by the night stand. A pillow goes flying and knocks over a lamp. You are still too sleepy to give it a second glance.

“Maybe it’s in the bathroom? Sometimes you take your works in there.”

Dirk stops, his eyes brighten, and he dashes to the restroom and disappears for a second. When he returns, he slips something black into his satchel.

“I assume you found it?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Jake.”

He moves to stand by the door and you wander with him. His hair is a mess now, and his shirt and jacket are hopelessly rumpled. You shake your head and stop him. Dirk only startles for a moment, looking you up and down, before relaxing with a long and over exaggerated sigh. He seems to know to move his hands to his sides and remain still. The room quiets as you fix his collar and straighten out the wrinkles in his clothes. He watches you silently. You pointedly stare at the buttons of his shirt.

When he breathes, you feel its warmth across your face. It smells like milk and jam. “Toast again?” you grin.

He shrugs. “I’ll eat something else when we have something better.”

“There are bagels and waffles. I could make eggs, too.”

“Nah.”

He meets your eyes over his shades. The air in the room turns sweet with the scent of his after shave. Dirk leans in, and you think he’s going to kiss you. As your eyes close and you naturally gravitate towards him, he turns his head and whispers into your ear,

“Brush your teeth, kid.”

You squawk and jerk away from him. Dirk snickers and presses his thumb to your chin in a goodbye gesture before quickly slipping out the door and into the hallway. Your cheeks are red as you stare at the empty space where he stood. You realize you’ve been standing and staring for quite some time before you move and head to the restroom to clean yourself up.

You’ve been living with him for two years. Financially it’s a life saver, and lifts off half the burden of rent expenses for you. But you didn’t think about that when you first moved in together. Dirk had been your upperclassman by three years. He was a teacher’s aid to your beginner’s math class. You heavily romanticized him, because when he spoke, he wove words like a renaissance artist, and it didn’t feel like you were learning math but listening to a young Plato discuss his own theories of the world’s secret numbers. But moving in with him, after a heated summer romance that still makes you flush, you realized that he was a person too, and had faults and secrets of his own. Which is why you don't bother him about what he had been looking for this morning and let him go.

Hours later, you are spruced up and ready for a day of diligent studying. The open window lets in a cool breeze over your work desk. You are slouched over several heavy text books and your back is starting to ache from sitting so long. Chewed on pizza crusts and energy drinks surround you, even though it’s early in the afternoon. You chip industriously away at your astronomy research. By God, you love the stars, but anyone can come to hate anything when they’re forced to pour over it for hours upon days upon weeks. You’re just at your wits end. Anything can distract you. You’ve been staring at a stain on the curtain for who knows how long. You stand up to clean it, when the wind ruffles the papers and unsettles one enough to let it slip away from the desk. You ‘tsk’ to yourself, and leave your work desk to retrieve it.

The paper lands quietly atop a stack of books and research papers underneath the window sill. Some bills are included in the pile. Generally, it’s the corner of the room where you and Dirk throw everything that you think is important but are too lazy to deal with. You take back the paper that had fallen.

Something catches your eye. Hidden in the stacks of mail and junk is a black notebook. Curiously, you pull it from the pile.

Immediately you recognize it as Dirk’s. The guy carries it with him everywhere, and when he doesn’t, he hides it in a box underneath his bed. It’s a little weird, like some taboo secret that no one’s allowed to mention because it’d make things uncomfortably awkward. It was crucially important to Dirk. Why would he leave it, though? The hectic morning you shared with him comes back to you; Dirk must have forgotten it. You wonder what he mistook for the journal instead.

You sit yourself on his messy bed. Just a peek wouldn’t hurt. You’ve been dying to know what’s been in it since you’ve met him.  He’d take it with him to class. It’d be on his desk whenever he taught. He’s clutched it to his chest like a child with his favorite stuffed toy. There must be a treasure trove of Dirk-esque secrets, things that he’d never share with anyone, and thinking about it you feel worse and worse and more like a sloozy criminal and rightfully you set it aside along Dirk’s pillow.

It sits beside you like an omniscient presence. You stare at the book. It stares at you- silently, innocently, as if the damn thing is taunting you, aware of your inner turmoil. You gulp and reach out for it again. Your body is hot with shame and excitement. With a wary glance towards the door, you set it in your lap. It’s okay. Dirk won’t be back from work for a few hours. He won’t catch you violating his trust and privacy.

Your gut twists.

It seems right to do it here, on his bed, for some reason. You don’t plan on reading anything if it gets too personal. You just want to...grow closer to him, without all the bother of actually sitting down and asking the fellow. The man is an enigma. It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if you never understood him at all. Even after years of living with him, there are still pieces of his personality that you can’t puzzle together. Like how he can pick apart the intrinsic significance of existential nihilism, yet cannot comprehend how you can simultaneously microwave bacon and fry eggs in a pan at the same time.

With a touch too much eagerness, you open up the first page. It’s a smudged, dizzying wall of abstruse equations. Your chest deflates with relief. This is honestly exactly what you expected. You don’t know how they work or what they apply to, but you know it hurts your eyes just looking at it, so you flip to the next page. There are more equations, and equations, lines and lines and pages and pages of mumbo jumbo. It might as well be Arabic to you. Every so often you pause to read when you catch little scribbles of notes on the side margins. They’re just as random and confusing as the math, and written in such horrid handwriting that even a certified graphologist would have trouble deciphering it.

Sometimes you find dates in the corners of pages. They’re not sequential, and they seem random. However they’re always within a span of two years. They are the two years that you have lived with Dirk. One date is circled. August 24th. You think back. What happened two years ago on that day?

Click click.

You jump. Blood runs cold. You throw the book aside and stare at the waiting door. It doesn’t open. The sound had come from the refrigerator. Stupid refrigerator.

Every little sound unsettles your nerves. Your head darts around the room even though no one is there. You think you hear the door click open every five seconds. It’s enough to unhinge you. You’re ready to set the book down again. You’ve overstepped his personal boundaries enough to last you a life time. Even if there weren't any secrets, no one deserves their privacy to be invaded like this. But the sweet temptation of scandal and mystery is too alluring to push away.  Adventure calls to you, yet your conscience weighs the book in your hand like an Albatross.

...You can’t put it away. The page is already warm by the time you turn it over.

You inhale sharply.

On the right side, large and finely detailed, is a sketch of your face. You stare and stare at it, wide eyed and stunned, because it can’t be you, there’s no way Dirk would draw you. But the drawing has your glasses, your hair, the birth mark on your cheek, your large teeth. Even the damned gap. It’s all there. It's an immaculate drawing. Your own face burns up as you reverently trace over every sketchy line with the tip of your finger; the slant of your jaw, your long, thick lashes, and the loving way he seemed to curve your lips.

 

You swallow a painful lump in your throat. You had no idea he could draw like this. You want to dwell on this picture, rip it out and tape it to the (stupid) fridge. You don’t want to turn the page. But you do. And you gasp again.

Because there are pages, and pages and pages, filled with you. Not just your face this time, but the back of your head. Your shoulders. Your hands- intricate, to where you can see the blue of veins and the stress in your tendons as you write some paper long since turned in. There’s you, lying down on your bed across from his. Facing away from him. You...never realized how curvy your hips were. Maybe it’s the artist’s interpretation. Your face radiates heat. You can’t control your downwards spiral of embarrassment anymore.

Dirk has taken so much care into every drawing. Just as he has with everything else in his life; whether it be his work, his studies, the way he combs his hair, he has poured every ounce of his soul into his work. You are dumbfounded, filled with a mixed sense of meekness and flattery as you flip through. You want to burrow into the pillows. You want to flaunt yourself on the streets. Because, these drawings make you feel like he’s always paying attention to you, even when you think he’s lost in his own thoughts in outer space. They make you feel-

**Click.**

Your heart stops. The door swings open. You scramble to close the notebook and appear decent. But there’s no way you can hide the redness in your cheeks or the jitteriness in your nerves. You stand in a flash and manage to bump your knee on the coffee table. White hot pain throbs in your joint.

“Jake?”

Dirk is staring at you, his hand clutching the door handle in a crushing grip and his hair and clothes more of a frazzled mess than when he left this morning. He pants like a bull. If you know Dirk, and you know him well, then you know that in his panic he took the stairs instead of the elevator. He’s clutching the black book he mistook for his own.

You are standing stiff on the spot. Expertly ignoring the pain in your knee with a stiff upper lip. The real black notebook is in your hands. Dirk’s eyes flicker to it, then back to your face.

“Oh, God...”

He bangs the back of his head as he slumps against the door. Dirk hides his face in his hands and groans.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Jake.”

You blink in shock, and realize that tears are dripping down your cheeks. You touch your fingers to them. Wipe them away with your forearms.

“Dirk...” You reach out to him.

He dissolves entirely, his head shaking and his shoulders hunched and turned away from you. You approach him slowly, your brows upturned with deep concern. It hurts so much to see him like this.

“No, it isn’t...Dirk, it isn’t like that.” You stretch out your hand to him. “I hit my knee on the coffee table, and it hurts like someone fired a pistol at me.” Your voice is a wreck, and not very convincing. You place your hand gently on his shoulder. "Really!" He finches like you punched him. It’s a pistol to your heart.

You are the worst at consoling people. Should you lie? Tell him you didn’t read it? That you stopped when you saw all the equations? But it’s too late for that apparently, because now the tears won’t stop falling, and you just want him to _look_ at you, if only he’d look at you so he could see how you really felt about it and maybe he’d forgive you for betraying him like this.

His hands still shield his face. You carefully take one of them away. One of his shaded eyes is revealed. They are closed tightly, because he is hiding from you, he doesn’t want to know what you think, and you hate that.

The second hand is more difficult to pull away, because he actually resists a little bit. But once he does, and you can see how much pain and embarrassment he’s in, you slap your hands over his cheeks and yank him towards you and his eyes fly open.

“What the hell-”

“You insufferable buffoon, why don’t you ask me how I feel before you descend into a cataclysmic breakdown?” You are glaring at him, but there’s lightness to your eyes and a softness to your lips that reveals how you truly feel. He’s confused and a little scared, so you continue.

“I...saw the drawings.” He stiffens. You steel your grip on his cheeks. “But I’m not upset or disgusted o-or hateful because of them. On the contrary, I thought they were...” You struggle to find words. He’s hanging on to you, listening, and you smile a playful smile. “They made me feel sexy.”

Dirk is speechless. He’s kind of gone still. He might be holding his breath. You let out a puff of laughter. “I’m not the one that should be upset, anyway. You should be angry that I raided your things.”

He’s quiet, then slowly, he shakes his head. “It was bound to happen someday.”

You chuckle again. Finally, he gives you a small smile. You murmur under your breath ‘that’s my boy’ and lean up to quickly peck his cheek.

But when you approach his cheek, he sees it coming, and quickly turns his head to press his lips to yours. It’s a little unexpected but you quickly adjust, closing your eyes and sliding your arms around his neck. The times which he kisses you are so rare and infrequent that when they do happen it’s filled with such intensity it fills your head with down and makes your knees weak. You don’t know why he doesn’t instigate kisses. Maybe it’s because he likes it more when you kiss him. Maybe he’s afraid you’ll reject him.

You pull away just an inch. He breathes heavily on your face, looking from your lips to your eyes. His own are glazed. You bump his nose with yours.

“What’s brought this up?” you ask softly, careful not to break the mood.

Dirk bites his lip, and the blood that rises to the surface catches your attention. He says his next words carefully.

“I want to draw you.”

You look at him as he looks away. Watch a touch of color powder over the heights of his cheeks. You grin.

“Alright.”

He looks at you. “Really?”

“Really.”

He breathes out. He’s a little stiff. He’s always a little stiff. “Okay.”

And this time, when he leans back in, you expect it, and take his thankful kiss with an open heart.

Dirk is rough and overeager. This is how it always is it seems; either he is too gentle, like he’s going to break you, or he’s severe and wild, as if he will never kiss you again. You pinch his ear, asking him without words to reel it back, and he listens. He supports your lower back with his hand and holds your hip in his other. His smell overwhelms you; it’s the scent of oil and working machinery from his job, and normally you’d find it distasteful; but on him, it’s a warm, pungent smell, that short circuits your thoughts when he gets close like this. You figure he’s not going back to work today. A part of you is very glad for this.

You groan suddenly, breaking the silence, when he draws your tongue into his mouth and sucks you so languidly that you think he’s going to swallow you up. You have to pull away. He wraps his lips around the wet muscle as you draw it out of his mouth. You pant sharply.

“Bed?" he asks, and you guide him there.

Dirk holds the back of your head as you lower yourself onto his pillow. He fixes your glasses on your face, and adjusts a few stray strands of baby hairs on your forehead. You still probably look a mess. But certainly not as much as he. His meticulously gelled hair is mussed from you gripping and running your fingers through it. His fair cheeks are flushed apple red, and the hazed chips of his topaz eyes are nearly swallowed up by his black pupils, leaving only a thin ring of amber. A shiver shoots up your spine. You really think he’s going to eat you.

“I thought you were going to draw me.”

He snorts. “I am.”

You are confused but go along with it.

He settles himself between your thighs. His hands gently maneuver your legs so they wrap around his hips. You’re malleable to him. You feel like gold; soft, valuable, shining under his hungry gaze.

His hands place themselves on your hips. They press down, just enough to feel the bone under your heated skin; they slide up, rucking your shirt with it, until he reaches your ribs and drags his hands away to slide them back down. Wherever his fingers go, they leave goose bumps in their wake. You arch into him, the pressure close but not enough.

“Hey, if you’re going to be my model, you need to stay still.”

You peek at him from one open eye and consider being defiant, but Dirk’s eyes mean business, so your body melts, and you lie like a doll against the sheets.

“Good,” he says softly, and it relaxes the nerves you didn’t know were anxious.

He rearranges your limbs with professional ease. Your hands lie above your head, splayed in total relaxed submission, and your nose presses into the side of your arm. The curve of your ass rests perfectly against his thighs. It brings a rise of color to your face that flushes to your neck. You breathe in, and out. He watches your chest expand and deflate. One large hand keeps on the center of your stomach while the other reaches for his notebook. Dirk uncaps his pen with his teeth, and opens the pages.

You never took yourself as a patient man. Dirk certainly doesn’t either- while sleeping together, you tend to want to rush things, get to the good parts, and you end up hurting yourself because you didn’t let him prepare you long enough. It’s the same with your movies. You want to skip scenes and fast forward to the action and the climactic finishes. But they’re never as climatic when you don’t know who the characters are or what the heck is going on. You feel the same now as you lie underneath him, being scrutinized by his artists’ eye. The silence makes you squirm. You know he’s taking in your features in explicit detail. It feels like his roaming eyes are touching you. Everything is so still and quiet that you grow antsy. The silence stretches on, until you begin to toss your head in frustration.

“Dirk…” God you sound so wanton.

“Shh. Be still.”

You like listening to the scratch of his pen on paper. But it doesn’t do anything to ease your restlessness. Every place his eyes touch make you feel hot. Nerves come alive, buzz like sparks of electricity. He’s not really touching you. It’s all in your head. His gaze feels like probing fingers. It’s even stranger not knowing what’s he’s doing, or how he’s going about doing it. Is he drawing your face first? Or your body? You don’t know how this goes, you’re not an artist; but you feel him through your pants as you fret and fuss, hard and wanting, the air thick and tense and wired with how much you both want to stop and rut against each other like animals.

Or maybe that’s just you. Either way, you’re hot, and you want him.

Dirk is focused on the drawing. His brow is narrowed and his lips purse in a thin line. He pauses, then looks from you to the drawing.

“It’s missing something…”

Your curiosity piques. Dirk sets the book aside and dips down. Your heart picks up with excitement.

Your first urge is to come up to meet him, but he pushes your chest down, and pins your hands beside your head where they had been.

“I said, don’t move.”

His authoritative tone makes tight heat coil in your stomach. An embarrassing noise bubbles up from your lips. Dirk closes the distance and kisses you.

He kisses you directly once, a long, intimate press of his lips, that leaves your head spinning and unsure of which world you live in. He leaves your mouth to kiss the side of your lips, then the hard line of your jaw. You turn your head away and expose your neck. Dirk moves down tortuously slow, using just enough pressure with his lips for you to feel but not enough to satisfy.

“Please…” The word comes out without your permission. His body presses against yours entirely with an infuriatingly tender demeanor. Every muscle in your being screams for his attention, cries out with the urge to attach yourself to him and bring him closer and do something, just _touch_ you. His lips kiss chastely on your neck, so innocently, as if you were in public. You beg shamefully for something more.

He is merciful. Dirk opens his mouth against your skin, and you feel his hot wet breath before he bites down and sucks, his teeth sinking in viciously, your body writhing with mixed pain and satisfaction, and when he realizes you’ve reached your limit, he kisses the spot with his tongue and suckles gently to ease the hurt. You’re whimpering and shivering. You hadn’t realized how worked up you got.

Then he pulls away and sits back and you cry out.

“Chill, Jake. I’m almost done.”

He gets his book again and you are angry at yourself for being jealous of a diary. You want to throw it across the room.

You lie still again, but this time, there is a frustrated set to your brow. Dirk scribbles something down, then sets it aside again.

“Hey, I can’t draw that face.”

You pout. He presses his thumb to your lips. Rubs it out. You feel the flutter of lashes against your brow when he kisses you between your eyes.

“It’ll only be a little longer. Promise.”

But it is far from “a little,” as he had put it. You lie in impatient agony as Dirk hovers over you and draws. What is he creating, the Mona Lisa? You don’t care anymore. You just want him to touch you. Rather quickly, you learn how to use your impatience and his perfectionism to your advantage. You’d grow anxious and fidgety, adjust yourself enough to distort the picture, and he’d bend down to rub the tension away. He’d kiss your chin, your neck, which was collecting with throbbing bruises, your chest over your shirt, and your barely exposed nipple, that ached with cold whenever he pulled back again to draw. Now as you squirm, you deliberately push your hips against his. The satisfaction you feel when his breath stutters and the path of his hand falters is worth the annoyed glare you receive afterwards. You smile.

He’s rocking steadily into your body as he draws. That must take a lot of talent. You’re humming in pleasured silence. You feel like a puddle in his palm. Love bites and patches of wet spot your body. You’re so hard there’s an inferno in your pants, but you’ve long since ignored it. Heat spikes fiery veins across your scalp, and sweat dampens your hair to your forehead. You envy Dirk’s self-control. There is no visible blotch of dampness on the front of his groin. But...his neck is decidedly more tense, and his eyes seem angry with their focus. You lick your lips, just as he looks back at you. He freezes.

“Done.”

You blink.

“What-”

The book and the pen go flying across the room. You don’t have time to protest as he comes down on you with the entire weight of his body. He turns your head towards his and mashes your lips together.

You don’t question it. Your eyes roll back and you groan. He pushes himself so forcefully onto you that your hips roll back and your legs stick up in the air. You tighten them around his back and grind your crotch into the heat between his legs. He gasps into your mouth.

You are so sensitive from all his little touches. When he finally grinds back, pinning your hips down and moaning your name into your mouth, you whimper, press your lips to his temple, and hold him to you by his shoulders with an iron grasp.

“What do you want?” he breathes hotly into your ear.

“Anything, anything...”

He kisses just below your ear and pulls away. Your lips chase after him. Dejected, you fall back on the bed. “Come now, you’ve had plenty of time to stare at me,” you complain. Your hands feel up and over his hard chest.

“Unfortunately, I did not stare the way I would have liked. It did nothing to get my rocks off.”

You scoff. “That’s such a bald-faced lie. I can feel it through your trousers. You had no trouble getting your proverbial rockers off.”

“We can get them off together. How’s that?”

You gag at him because that was exceptionally cheesy. He grins and sits back.

Dirk lifts his slightly sweaty shirt over his head. It yanks his shades off with it. You are eager to touch his bare skin. Your dick throbs with want.

His eyes, dark with lust, leer over you, because this entire time, he’s been just as wanting as you, but had to have the restraint not to touch or indulge himself- starved and given a banquet full of grandiose food, but barred from tasting. He’s thinking. You don’t have any patience left. You’re about to say something, maybe tease him some more, tell him you’re about to flip him over and take the driver’s seat from here on-

“Will you ride me?”

Yes. Yes, you will do just that.

Dirk grabs you by the underside of your knees and pushes your legs back more. Being like this is embarrassing, even if you’re still wearing clothes. He takes care of that quickly. Clothes go flying, socks and shorts and underwear, and soon you’re spread and exposed. Everything hangs out in the open. You breathe out a shuddering breath and close your eyes.

He stares at you as he did when he was drawing. You squirm, the flush on your cheeks flaring.

“It’s missing something,” and he bends down between your legs and nips a red bruise into your thigh. You jerk and cry out, but only because you thought his mouth was going elsewhere. Then he makes another, kissing and sucking along the juncture between your leg and hip, and another, and another, till your leg quivers and your toes curl. His lips move up to your knee. Every press of his soft skin to yours feels like a lick of molten metal. You whimper when he reaches your bruised knee. He stops.

“What happened here?”

It takes you a moment to respond. “I hit my knee on the coffee table.”

“Really? I thought you were joking.”

“Does that look like a joke to you? It brought me to tears!”

He laughs a little, kisses the spot, then moves on.

His head returns to settle between your legs. He doesn’t dawdle much this time. Dirk adds one loving kiss to your stomach, then sucks the tip of your dick into his mouth.

Dirk is sudden and spontaneous, and he always surprises you, but you hadn’t expected him to just dive in. Not that you’re complaining. You gasp and writhe. Your back curves off the bed and your legs throw themselves over his shoulders as one of his hands joins in and pumps in sync with his lips. When he moans, you moan, and when he goes down on you every last inch you fist your fingers in his hair and sob his name. The rhythm starts off quick right away. He bobs, his free hand pinning your hips to keep you from suffocating him entirely.

You find yourself staring at a singular spot on the ceiling. The room is filled with the sounds of his mouth, as he sucks, licks his own spit off your skin, and hums a tune you suspect is from a children’s cartoon. You feel yourself growing closer. Dirk knows, and he knows by the way your voice rises, how your heels dig into his back, and how you can’t properly pronounce his name anymore. He pulls off of you with a wet pop to flatten his tongue at the base, his nose buried in your hair (and god why didn’t you shave, Dirk never complains but watching him pick your pubes out of his teeth in front of the mirror afterwards is mortifying), then drags it to the tip to swirl and massage the swollen head. You watch him, and his golden eyes dart up to meet yours. Your head sags back against the pillow. You moan, desperate for the velvety wetness of his mouth.

“Dirk, Dirk...”

He gives you one last beautiful suck. Then your dick slips out of his mouth, and he pats your thigh. “Sit up for a sec?”

You glare at him between your legs, befuddled. It doesn’t have much threat value. “Why? I was perfectly happy like this.”

Dirk levels his gaze. “You’re going to ride me, right?”

Lord, the man can speak so brashly sometimes. You sigh and sit up. Reluctantly.

As you sit up, your shirt slips down and covers your stomach. You strategically hide your privates with it. Dirk crawls up the bed and lays himself down on his back. You straddle his waist, his soft, warm stomach pressed against the space between your legs. There is a mirthful glint to his eyes. You tilt your head in confusion.

Wordlessly, Dirk places a hand on your hip and beckons you forward. Your eyes widen, and your dick twitches through your shirt. He probably saw that.

Carefully, looking everywhere but his face, the picture of embarrassed arousal, you scoot up his chest, until you are hovering your aching desire over his lips. There are no bed posts or railings to hold onto. Your hands find leverage on the walls. Slowly, you lower yourself down.

He can do what he pleases with you like this, and at the same time, you have all the control to pull away or smother him as you wish. Choking him isn’t on your mind though. As with all other things, your mind tends to wander. You find yourself worrying needlessly, wondering if you showered enough, if you’re still smelly even though you showered quite thoroughly, if Dirk secretly thinks you taste gross or if you aren’t expressing well enough how good he makes you feel-

The first hot lick you feel over your taint has you reeling. All wandering thoughts get thrown out the window. Your thighs clench around his face. This is the best part, you think, when your embarrassment finally leaves you enough to enjoy yourself fully. When the two of you first hooked up, sex was nearly an every day occurrence. That summer was wild. You recall your first time with passionate fondness. He took you to the park by the lake at night. How it wasn’t filled with people you never found out, but he proposed that you move in with him, _you_ , a mere undergraduate, and took you for himself in the back of his Ford truck. The bastard had planned it, but you forgave him, because he took the time to fill the bed of the truck with pillows and blankets and didn’t protest once when you asked him to use a condom. Then there was that time at your grandmama’s house, you both had to stay quiet so that was exciting, and then the time after a heavy night of partying and drinking where you ended up at some random hotel two states away. You never got used to stripping naked for him; feeling entirely vulnerable, and having him take you in the most explicit fashion possible. The man is a total romantic. Every time you copulated he did his best to make you happy and comfortable. And though he is a little brash and a little rough, and a kinky fucker to boot, you always finished completely sated. Which is more than your other partners can say.

You think back on your heated romance and shiver. Dirk hums, massaging the muscled globes of your ass. He squeezes them together, spreads them apart, until you feel so open and bare you have to pull away a moment to gasp for breath. He laughs, a muffled sound that only reminds you of what his lips are occupied with, and draws your hips back down. His tongue slips between your cheeks. Wets you, kisses you, sucks you, until you feel sloppy and loose and your body trembles above him and you can’t take it anymore. He pokes inside, just a little. Enough for you to feel the small stretch, a tiny ache, but mostly a warm yielding wetness that slips and wiggles and slides. You move for the first time. Shove yourself onto his face. Dirk grunts in warning, but you pull off barely an inch. Your hand reaches back to balance yourself on his chest. Naturally you spread your legs more. Your other hand wraps around your dripping dick, pumps it hard and quick, as you keen and stutter a mix of words you fail to understand. His hands have never left your ass, and now he keeps your cheeks spread and squeezes in luxurious rolls of his thumbs.

You didn’t even notice when one of his hands moved away to reach underneath the mattress. You do notice when he slips his tongue out of you to replace it with one wet finger.

“Fuck…”

“Easy.”

For the first time, you look down between your legs. You couldn’t bear it before. But now you can’t imagine why you didn’t. Dirk looks back at you with absolute reverence and admiration. You can see his mouth again, and it shines and swells red and rosy. His cheeks bloom red, and some of your precum smears on his forehead. You reach to wipe it away. He kisses the palm of your hand.

“Remind me again why we don’t do this anymore.” His lips kiss your wrist. You assume he means the face sitting.

“Probably because you’d finish before I even touched you.”

He frowns. “Right.”

Dirk presses his finger all the way inside you. You lift off his body and bite your lip harshly to retain your sound.

He snorts. “Can’t imagine why I would.”

He doesn’t move the finger anymore, but it’s still a constant presence in your mind. You slide further down his chest, his finger pressed deep inside of you, until you are seated firmly on his stomach. You expect to feel a wetness underneath you, the residue of his restrained arousal, but he is distressingly dry. You look back.

“Oh my god, you’re still wearing pants?”

“And you’re still wearing a shirt. I didn’t exactly have a chance to take them off.”

“Shouldn’t we remove them now?”

“In a minute.”

He pushes a little deeper. The digit is not soft and yielding like his tongue, but a long, slow stretch. Your eyes clench tightly, probably mimicking the ring of muscle gripping around his finger. He sighs and pulls it out.

Instantly you relax and open your eyes. Dirk stares expectantly at you. You realize your shoulders are bunched up and you are gnawing at your lower lip with your overbite. He holds you with his clean hand as he sits up, and leans his back against the wall. His belt digs into your butt. It kind of hurts.

“What can I do to loosen you up?”

Your focus immediately shifts to his lips. He notices.

“You do realize where my mouth just was, right?” He raises a thin blond eyebrow.

“Yes, but- oh, I don’t know.” You blush. “Talk to me?”

He nods, and you can see a gentle lift to the corner of his lips. A large hand grasps you by the back of your neck and pulls you forward. Your lips meet his.

Honestly, you don’t mind that he’s used his mouth for the things he has. Well…you don’t let yourself think about it. He’s warm, and controls the kiss entirely, flicking his tongue between your lips to retreat back into his mouth, tempting you to chase after him. You do, and make sure to fill him completely. He presses his lips to yours more carefully now, as if you’ll fall apart or run away. The motion of his tongue makes your heart melt. Your body falls into his. Your muscles turn to jelly.

As you kiss, pressed chest to chest, your hands cupping his neck and running over his collarbone, he lubes his finger up again and slides it inside.

“Mm…” Your brow furrows.

“So what did you really think when you first saw my drawings.” His lips do not separate from yours. His breath warms you to your toes. It’s mildly distracting.

“I…I was astonished…at first I didn’t think it was me, but…” He nips your lower lip, pulls it back, then lets it snap back in place. You thoughts momentarily derail. “But I saw how detailed it was, and there was no mistaking that that was _my_ nose, and my eyes and m-my teeth-“

A second finger joins the first. At first it only rubs the outer rim, but it’s cold, and you tense up in anticipation.

“Mmhm,” he coaxes, asking for you to continue, his hand sliding over your back and his lips kissing your chin when you tilt your head back. He pulls out his first finger to allow the other to slide in to the first knuckle. They curl inside you. Pressure shoots up the base of your spine. Your mouth falls open. “Hey, c’mon, you wanted to talk, Jake. I want to hear what you have to say.” He smirks as he watches you struggle to form words. You have a fleeting thought of wanting to strangle him, but the sleazeball would probably enjoy that.

“It was clear that you devoted a lot of time into each drawing, and at first I may have been a little…weirded out…” it shouldn’t be so surprising that you’re a hair breathless, “but I realized quickly that you must have an invested interest in my person if each one is so carefully- ah, detailed…”

Dirk shrugs. He’s stopped his showers of kisses to lean back and watch you. His fingers push a little deeper. You barely register it. “They’re just drawings.”

You blink. “W-Well, yes, but…” The man does do everything with an absurd amount of energy and effort. “Why were there no other drawings but of myself?”

Here, he pauses. He stares blankly at you for many long seconds, until you think you may have accidentally frozen the computer in his brain. Then he simply shakes his head and leans back in to kiss you. “I draw a ton of other stuff.” His kiss is harsh. “Trees, animals, other people,” it’s nearly all teeth, and you are pushed backwards by the force of it, “things worth remembering, the park, your house, the stupid birds, the car-” His fingers breach your entirety and spread inside of you. You feel the pressure in your bones as you arch and cry out.

Dirk…is a terrible liar.

He rambles on about all these things that he might very well have drawn but clearly didn’t give two shits about as two fingers turn to three, and slide in and out of you with painless ease. You know he can go on for hours, but surprisingly, it calms you now. Dirk is nervous, and as he goes on about things of random inconsequential meaning, you find your body turning to mush in his hold, the fingers inside of you filling and rubbing all the right spots, and with a watery eyed plea, he glides the fingers out of you, still mumbling about some metaphor long since lost in the incomprehensible space of his mind.

It would be impossible to shut him up with words. So you pull away from him, wriggle down between his legs, and grind on his clothed erection.

Dirk shuts up immediately. His words die in his throat, and his eyes flutter shut. It is the first stimulation he has received since you started this fiasco. The man is ready to bust through his zipper. You have to admire how he could restrain himself this entire time while you received all the attention. You grin to yourself, and bend down.

Admittedly, you are not the best at giving head. This is likely because you try too hard, and are too enthusiastic, and want to stuff it all down your throat like a premium beef hot dog instead of someone’s actual dick. You end up choking and having to quit early on. Dirk has helped you, but there is still a bit of your natural clumsiness that always accompanies you with whatever you do.

The buckle of his belt puts up a fight, and the zipper of his pants pinches you as you pull it down. That’s probably because you’re kissing his naval instead of watching what you’re doing. At least it gets a laugh out of him.

But he goes quiet when you finally yank down his pants to his knees. A transparent wet spot darkens his boxers. You kiss the spot, and his hips jerk up.

“Jake…”

“What?”

“The saliva will wash the lube away.”

“Hm.” You slide the boxers down his thighs. His dick lies pink and hard against his stomach. Dirk looks at you, and it’s not a gaze of desire or urgency, but of question. You smile kindly, and he smiles back. He holds your cheek in the palm of his hand. You dip down and lick steadily from base to tip. His fingers twine in your dark hair, and his knees hike up. It’s already so wet; he tastes like sweat and bitter arousal, but you’re used to the taste after so many years together. You clean it all up, and leave a shining layer of spit. He combs through your hair. It feels nice.

“Jake, I think-” You pull up and dig your tongue into the slit- “I think that’s-” You suck him down as far as you can go- “Jake, that’s enough!”

You freeze, just as you’re about to test your limits. With a quick swallow, you let him slip out of you.

Dirk breathes with every ounce of his energy. The hand in your hair grips so tight he might have knotted his fingers in it permanently. You wince, he comes to his senses, and relieves you. Blood rushes back to your scalp. He tugs on your arm, a silent question, and you clamber up his torso to sit yourself comfortably on his waist.

“Sorry, if I hadn’t stopped you I would’ve-“

“Yes, I know.” You peck the corner of his lips. He closes his eyes.

Everything happens rather quickly after that. You help him lube up, and as you align yourself with him, he pulls off your t-shirt and hugs you to himself. He whispers a few words of encouragement. You want to hide in the crook of his neck, but he holds you tight and touches his forehead to yours. He touches his lips to your nose. You’re so happy. He’s happy too.

You take a deep breath. The head pops in, and as slow as butter, good and steady and delicious, it fits all the way inside. You stick to him fast, kiss his open mouth; he tastes like syrup.

Neither of you expected to last long. You had spent so much time on foreplay, and with every touch of his skin, every press of his soft lips, and the sweet slide of his dick in and out of you, your nerves alight and fizzle out like sparks of fire or shaken soda. The room steams with your sex, and your skin sticks to his like melted sugar. His grip on your waist is brutal. Your nails scathe his chest. You’ll never apologize. He watches you, and you watch him, through the haze of your pleasant confusion. You love how he says your name in your ear, like a secret, and it’s yours only. You hold to it, hold to him, steadfast. He is your lifeline. You bounce heavily on his hips, your dripping cock rubbing over his hard stomach, grind bruising pressure, and scream, as hot pleasure shoots through your blood like liquid narcotics and your world falls underneath you and you come undone at the seams.

Pieces of earth come back in fragments. First there’s the sound of his breathing. Your head lies against his chest, and you rise and fall with each of his gentle breaths. Your eyes are open, and at first unseeing; but slowly the coffee table returns to clarity, and then the other side of the room where you bed is located, and the black notebook, which lies neglected on the carpet floor. Dirk rubs your lower back in small circles. He’s pulled out of you, and an unpleasant sticky residue smears between your thighs. You ignore it.

“Have you returned to earth, space cadet?”

You snicker, and rise from his chest to kiss his lips once. “For now.”

You stay on that bed with him for nearly an hour, just kissing and talking idly. Dirk says he won’t show you the drawing until it’s perfect. You are enthusiastic, but will wait for him to be happy with it. Thinking about the notebook again reminds you of something.

“Say, while I was reading through your journal-”

“You mean snooping?”

“Hush. So while I was reading I came across a certain date that you had circled. There were many dates, but this was the only one that was emphasized.”

“Well, what was it?”

“August 24th.”

He thinks, then breaks into a wide, knowing grin. You are suddenly very scared.

“Damn, dude. That was the day you told me something really important.” He shakes his head in shame. “I can’t believe you forgot.”

You frown and blink owlishly many times. “But- Dirk, what was it?”

“Not telling you.”

“Dirk!”

“Nope.”

He jumps off the bed and tries to get away, and you chase after him and trip his balance. But he tangles himself in his trousers that you never fully removed and you both land hard on the floor, just shy of the harsh edge of the coffee table. You pin him with all of your naked weight.

But Dirk is smiling, and he tells you he loves you, and he laughs when you look at him with innocent confusion and kisses you like you missed a very important joke.

You’ll make sure to pester him about it later. In the meantime, you return his affection, and lie together on the floor without a care in the world.

.

 

.

 

Epilogue:

 

"Jake, I’m going to shower first."

“Alright. Please make sure there’s some hot water left for me.”

The spray turns on from the other side of the door. You sit in your bed, which has become the reading nook since you’re always sleeping with Dirk in his bed. Your laptop rests in your lap, playing Transformers, but you are growing bored with sitting still. You set it aside with a sigh and glance around the room in idle disinterest. 

There’s Dirk’s diary, now lying out in the open on his nightstand. For a while he wanted to draw you and would ask your permission, but you’d tense up and try to pose and end up looking too awkward for a picture. You think he’s still drawing; you just don’t know what or when. 

You remember that comical day, when you found his diary while he was at work. Your curiosity was too strong to ignore. It was astounding to you that he wasn’t angry. Gosh, sometimes you don’t think you deserve him. Your wrath would not have been matched by any other if the rolls had been reversed. Honestly, if the guy had just taken the right book instead the wrong one, there wouldn’t have been a problem to begin with-

You frown to yourself and stand up. It hits you like a freight truck. There wasn’t just one book, but two. Two black books. Dirk had taken the wrong book to work, and you’d read the other. In all your time together you never realized there were two. But what was in the diary you hadn’t read?

You see it, sitting inconspicuously beside the other journal. It is completely identical. You suddenly don’t blame him for mistakenly taking the wrong one. 

You peek back at the bathroom door. The shower water is still running. Greedily you snatch up one of the books. The moment you open it, you know this one is different. 

You sit on his bed, and read the first entry. 

 _“In no point in my life have I ever considered that the surmise of my golden years would be spent in the domestic clutches of a widowed middle-aged woman’s dream. But I find no conflict in this lifestyle and count myself content in the wide scheme of conflicts, where others my age struggle in vast oceans of financial and emotional debt and I sail on a sturdy vessel of wealth and overwhelming compassion. He is the sail to this wooden boat, the North Star to my compass, and I sometimes dwell at night until the stars disappear and morning rises on the infinitely accruable basin of his loyalty and good hearted honesty. In no way would I be able to repay my debt to the gift that he gives to me every day by loving me in return, had I not been given three life times to shower him in good fortune and every bit of caring and doting he deserves. The man will always remain to me a mystery, a conundrum of the conscious and the mind, which none of my formulas or psychiatric theories can justify. He is simply Jake English, and in no way, shape or form, will I ever be able to explain why he loves me back.”_  
-signed, D. Stri

Now, as you cry, they are not crocodile tears, not from bumping your knee on the side of the table, but of real warmth that spills out of you in the only way it can for the man that has unknowingly wooed your heart to pieces. You wipe them quickly, sniffing into your sleeve, and turn the page. You expect to find another entry like this, that will no doubt leave you a crumbling gooey mess. 

But you find a dick. An actual, thorough, all-inclusive, veiny drawing of an uncircumcised dick. And there isn’t just one, but many. Countless dicks. It is a literal sausage fest. You slam the book shut and put it back in place. 

When Dirk comes out of the shower, he says nothing about your silence or the beet red flush to your face.

**Author's Note:**

> now go back and reread, and imagine all of the horrified stares of wandering passerby's as they walk past the open window. 
> 
> please go check out dri on tumblr at drisrt.tumblr.com because her art is gorgeous and she contributed the picture for this fic very kindly! :)  
> you can find me on tumblr at ticklishivories  
> :)


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